My 36th poem for you is TIME’S A TRICK YOU KNOW. I saw a brilliant 2-frame cartoon recently, of BEFORE and AFTER – the BEFORE being a family at table perhaps 50 years ago: laughing, singing, playing games; the AFTER being a family at table today: silent, each one, down to the toddler, with eyes glued to a smart phone or tablet. A few years ago, some friends trying to find our house in the foothills of the Cevennes spent 4 hours within a mile or two of us, hopelessly following the instructions on their GPS. As we were not at home, their phone calls were to no avail. In their hands they had my written instructions for finding us, including this sentence: “You will see the ruined Chateau on top of the hill. It can be seen for miles around. Make for its foot – we are the only property there.” They had not lifted their eyes from the screen. Darkness fell. The GPS led them into farmyards, down bridleways, logging trails, anywhere but to the foot of the hill. We rescued them on our return, when, not knowing it was us, they waved us down in the road and asked if we knew Bill and Estelle! I wrote this poem for my mother, Margaret, after a conversation with her a few weeks ago about the intrusive prevalence of smart phones, more particularly of smart phones in use as cameras. I was at the first day of the Olympic Dressage event at Greenwich Park in 2012, and was struck by how many people in the audience were actually watching the event in their tiny telephone screens, though the event itself, large as life, was just a few yards away. I am afraid that today, often, events are being recorded, rather than experienced. Will all these photographs and videos be watched again more than once? Good question. Oh, to be sure, the odd photograph is fun, and the odd video may be useful and fun, too. But to whip out the smart phone every moment something happens... Come on! Will the experience be equal to the original event, which could have been enjoyed in its broad glory rather than on a tiny screen? Hey ho! TIME’S A TRICK, YOU KNOW Of course it’s all a dream, our past, A photographic dream, And we do not design the frame, Or choose the colour scheme. And dear old Time, our closest friend, Or our worst enemy, Paints pebbles in where cherries lay, Tells lies about you and me. For now is then and what will be, The past will come and go; The future’s gone, but will return, For Time’s a trick, you know. Let’s leave the picture in the box, And look life in the eye; Take pictures if we must, but know They’ll fool us by and by. So here’s my hand and here’s my life, They’re yours, for we’re a team; Let photographs tell half the tale - While we live out the dream. For now is then and what will be, The past will come and go; The future’s gone, but will return, For Time’s a trick, you know.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 09:02:39 +0000
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